Habit, a poem

Habit, my old friend, Or are you my enemy? You say habit I hear “monotony.” Someone else says it, And I hear “addiction.” Habit, you could make me a great man Or you could cause me to self destruct. Habit, you are helpful, But you can also be cruel. Habit, you be what I tellContinue reading “Habit, a poem”

Perfection is a waste of time (a poem)

Perfection Is A Waste of Time You can’t go to hell if you are already there, And perfection is the death of art. The pursuit of perfection, Is the birth of mediocrity. Mediocrity can be no one’s muse. But perfection is tedium, Soulless and tedious. These words to the wordsmith, are trivial repetitive garbage. SoulContinue reading “Perfection is a waste of time (a poem)”

What good is a broken man?

What an era to be alive. Yet how can one call living with no dignity living? Crawling on knees to get to a safe place to release your bowels, Begging from mercy from an overweight class traitor with shit aim Only to get 6 bullets in the back. For a cell phone. Can it beContinue reading “What good is a broken man?”

January 23, 2017 – V

In too deep in hell, or have I gone to heaven? Only time will tell.

January 23, 2017 – II

I have been tourist, patriots of capital. Pride in rhetoric. 

January 23, 2017 – I

Losers never win, That is what makes them a loser. President Loser.

January 19, 2017

Not my President. Not even my TV star, NOT MY PRESIDENT.

January 18, 2017 – II

Chelsea Manning, FREE! Peltier, Mumia, Snowden? Among so many.

January 18, 2017 – I

A conservative, coward, liberal, loser, moderate, moron.

January 16, 2017 – III

A rose in Winter, the best way to describe hope, a rose in Winter.

Calling all…

Calling all hearts All Souls who have felt the bitter sweet burns of Love’s pain. Calling all minds All thinkers Doers And actors. Call all poet’s hearts, Do not be meek in the face of these days! Calling all strong, It’s time to stand up to bullies, Calling all thinkers, Lovers,  Hearts,  Minds, Souls. CallingContinue reading “Calling all…”

Thought’s Post Annual Fleeting

   Yes, but forced intrusion  And impulse. Yet so be got by letting go. Letting go of such a thought, both fleeting  and concrete. Yes these words are  spoken, even written, again and again. So dare one say is that not its message. What merry spirits do burn again on this day. What day, Other,Continue reading “Thought’s Post Annual Fleeting”

Foul Hours Before the Sweet Embrace of Night

The Hours are foul. The Sun Sets. I must begone from this hell, and off to a place of rest. So I bid the adieu, and move on to the night anew. 7/27/10